A Shot to the heart
by Fayth3
Summary: Rose gets injured and the Doctor has to take care of herexcess fluff.


"Stupid idea!" Rose yelled over her shoulder as they sped through the forest, twigs breaking underfoot as branches whipped their hands and faces.

The Doctor stepped up the pace to run next to her shooting her his best 'please-don't-be-mad' grin.

"How was I to know he'd understand me?" he panted and ducked as something whistled past his ear and buried itself into a nearly tree.

Rose glanced at the still vibrating arrow as she raced past, shooting him an irate glare that spoke volumes.

"It was catchy!" he protested and shot a look over his shoulder. "Duck!"

Rose dropped to her knees as a volley of arrows showered over her head to land in front of her.

The Doctor swallowed. "You know, I think they might just be serious!"

"Ya think?" Rose grabbed him and started to run again.

Footsteps echoed just behind her and she knew that they were going to be caught if they didn't get out of these woods.

She jumped over a fallen oak and tried to think where they'd left the TARDIS; surely it had to be around here somewhere, they hadn't travelled that far. Plus it couldn't be so damn hard to find a big blue box in the middle of Sherwood Forest.

"Come back here you thrice be-damned curs!"

The yells from behind them were getting louder and so it was with some relief that Rose finally spied the edges of the TARDIS.

"Doctor!" she called with some relief and he whooped with joy, drowning out the whistling i _twack /i _as a bow was fired.

He rushed ahead of Rose, fumbling in his pocket for the key and had it in the lock before she caught up.

The Doctor pushed her inside and glanced out at the running men. "And a pox on the phoney king of England!"

He slammed the door and turned to Rose with a bark of laughter. "Okay, it was a cheap shot, but I couldn't resist!"

"Doctor," Rose said softly, her face pale.

He pouted at the implied criticism. "I know it was a close one, but how was I to know that it would catch on, I thought it was a Disney favourite." He opened his arms and began to sing, loudly and off-key. "Too late to be known as John the First, he should have been known as John the worst; sing with me—"

"Doctor?"

"—a pox on the phoney king of Engla—"

"Doctor?"

He rolled his eyes and stared at an ashen Rose. "What?"

"The phoney king of England," she shuddered, "is a good shot."

She sank to her knees and fell, face first to the TARDIS floor, showing the horror-stricken Doctor the arrow protruding from her shoulder.

>>

The Doctor didn't know that he could move so fast as he swooped Rose up in his arms and was hurtling down the corridor towards the medical bay before he even realised he had moved.

The blood pumping out of the wound was nothing compared to the utter stillness of Rose as he laid her on the medical bed.

She was usually a whirlwind of activity, even when she was asleep. The Doctor often watched her as she slept and loved the twitches and sighs and the utter humanness of her.

But now she was as pale as death and he found himself trembling, not sure where to start. In the face of Rose being injured his cool logic and precision went out of the window and he was reduced to panicking.

"Rose?" he breathed frantically and stroked her face.

She didn't make a sound, ignoring his caress, and that was enough to jolt him into action.

"I'll take care of you, Rose," he swore as he got to work.

Even with the advanced care that was available in the TARDIS it took the Doctor two hours to treat the wound which had punctured her shoulder and left a gaping hole in its wake.

Removal of the weapon had left the table a bloody mess and Rose's back a canvas of red, and his stomach turned even as his hands were steady on his beloved patient.

Two hours of torment and mental anguish as she didn't make a sound, unconscious even through the painful surgery that he inflicted on her still body. Two hours of fear churning his insides and tears blinding his eyes as she just didn't move.

Her blood-soaked shirt was strewn on the floor with soaked bandages and ragged tissues and the Doctor sat with his back against the door, hands crusted in red liquid as he stared at the woman he had come so close to closing.

Rose lay on her stomach, a huge swatch of padding on her shoulder, strapped down with medical gauze.

The wound was sealed but he knew that he had to leave her to heal naturally, however long it took.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"Mmm," she muttered and turned her face into the comfy pillow he had located and wedged under her head.

"Rose?" The Doctor shot to his feet and was by her side in an instant, his hands on her face.

"Did you get his number?"

The Doctor blinked at her croaky voice and random statement, wondering if, in all his ministrations he had missed a head wound.

He reached into her hair and parted the silky-soft strands trying to find any sign of the bump that would have confused her. He couldn't find one, although he liked the slight purr that she made under his expert touch.

"Who's number, Rose?" he whispered.

"The guy that hit me with the baseball bat," she muttered. "My back kills, Doctor."

He breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't delirious, just human with delightfully confusing asides.

"Other than that, how do you feel?" he asked tentatively.

"Dizzy, grouchy and in need of tea."

The Doctor gave a laugh of pure relief and leaned over to press a kiss to her head, unable to stop touching her now that she was moving. "You were shot, Rose."

She opened one eye to glare at him. "I know and I told you it was a stupid idea."

He couldn't quite keep the smile off his face even in the face of her ire. He was too relieved that she was okay. "You wanted to meet Robin Hood."

Rose wrinkled her nose. "He didn't look anything like Kevin Costner."

"Well, he _was_ English." The Doctor teased. "You could tell by the way he said Nottingham instead of Natting- i _ham /i _."

Rose gave a small bark of laughter and winced. "I guess you shouldn't ever meet your heroes."

"No."

"Or insult the King of England," she shot back at his blasé answer and he had the grace to wince.

"Oh, all right, point made." He stroked her hair. "And I am sorry."

"I know."

Rose turned over slowly, wincing as her shoulder ached, and sat up. "Okay, Friar Doc, you make the tea while I shower medieval England out of my hair, okay?"

He nodded at her. "Just don't take too long, Maid Rose Marion, or the tea'll get cold."

She slid off the medical table and took a moment to get her bearings, the sudden change in position making her feel dizzy. She looked down and squeaked, covering her chest.

"What?" the Doctor was bemused at her action.

"Naked chest!" she pointed out and his eyes slid downwards.

He blinked.

"Gosh, so it is and a very nice one it is too, I mean not that I've looked, I mean I have looked, obviously, but only as a doctor would, you know since I am one."

The more he spoke the redder his face became and Rose felt easier with the evidence of the Doctor's inept fumbling. He grabbed a thin blanket and tossed it at her, trying to think of anything to say that didn't revolve around those mounds of flesh that he suddenly couldn't get out of his head.

"Okay," she giggled amidst one of his babbling rants. "Stop digging yourself into that hole."

"Shutting up now," he said with a relieved grin, miming zipping up his mouth.

"Besides," Rose said as she made her way to the door. "It's not like you haven't stared at them before."

The Doctor's jaw dropped as she stuck her tongue between her teeth flirtatiously before walking out and, for once, he had nothing to say.

Rose was slightly embarrassed that the Doctor had seen her without her shirt on but knew that she could brazen it out.

As it was, the look on his face when she had walked out would keep her going for a good long while yet.

It proved that he wasn't totally impervious to her charms anyway.

She grinned as she stripped off, mindful of the bandage that the Doctor had placed on her shoulder. He had said that it was all right to get it wet as it was some sort of alien type waterproof thingy—his exact words.

Rose stepped into the shower and groaned with pleasure as the hot water cascaded over her face, washing away dirt and grime and the horrors of medieval England.

It had been her idea to see Robin Hood—she'd wanted to know what all the fuss was about and so the Doctor had taken her to the legendary tournament for the best archer; something that had actually happened.

They'd sat in the crowded bleachers amidst unwashed, unkempt citizens of Olde England and cheered as the archers set up and sprung their wares, prancing like proud peacocks for the amusement of the crowds.

Rose had been enthralled by the atmosphere, feeling very much like she was in an old movie with the flags flying and the dirt underfoot.

Robin Hood may not have been great looking but he had charm that left her blushing and breathless and the Doctor glowering over the kiss to her palm.

She'd adored the whole experience—until the Sheriff of Nottingham requested her presence at the table of the Prince and it had all gone downhill from there.

Apparently there was something called the first rite which meant that any woman could be taken by the King as his concubine, and, as the interim King, Prince John wanted to exercise that right.

The Doctor had, obviously, argued and then started the First World War three hundred years early when he started singing i _that /i _song.

It caught on quickly and soon the whole of the fete began the musical number that started with a red faced Prince ordering their execution and ended with a mad race to the TARDIS.

As usual.

"He throws an angry tantrum if he cannot have his way; he calls for mom and sucks his thumb and doesn't want to play. Too late—" Rose groaned as she realised what she was humming. It was catchy! "I'm gonna kill him!"

She reached for the shower gel and pain exploded in her back.

Rose all but screamed as her wound burned furiously, the sharp movement that she had made exacerbating the injury.

Bracing her uninjured arm against the wall she closed her eyes as the sharp shards of pain dulled into a burning throb in her back. She bit down on her lip, fighting back tears.

Okay, maybe she wasn't as all right as she thought she was.

She reached for the gel with her other hand and quickly washed herself, the shower having lost its appeal.

Then Rose realised exactly what a predicament she was in.

She couldn't reach up to do her hair.

Every movement that she made to elevate her arms above waist level hurt so much. It was like someone was digging red hot pokers into the skin on her back and raking coals over her clavicle.

With a dry sob Rose switched off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself gently.

Wet drops dripped off the ends of her hair to trail down her back but there was nothing she could do to stop them, even trying to lift her arms to dry her hair was torture. Even worse, the tiny bit of effort she extended to do so left her tired and shaking.

She rested her head against the wall, trying to soothe her flushed skin and closed her eyes. It must have been minutes later when she heard a tapping at her door and a softly called out; "Rose?"

"Yeah?" she croaked and the Doctor opened the door and poked his head in.

He stared at her for a moment and then shook himself.

"Uh, sorry. But you were gone an awful long time and your tea was getting cold, I just wanted to check to make sure you were all right and you hadn't succumbed from blood loss or anything." His tone was joking but his words were deadly serious.

He had been waiting for her for some time and every moment increased his fears that she had fallen in the shower, or fainted, or even started to bleed again.

The images that swam in his head were so intense that he had started to pace and eventually just had to go and see if she was all right for himself.

He watched her flushed face and gave her a look of concern.

"Rose?"

She gave him a weak smile. "I can't wash my hair; it hurts to lift my arms."

"Oh." He rocked on the balls of his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Can't you leave it?"

Rose gave him an incredulous look.

Men!

"Yeah, I leave it and look like Tina Turner on speed. It needs conditioning and brushing at least!"

"Well," he whistled and reached up to scratch his ear. "I could help."

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Right."

"I could." He beamed brightly. "Doctor, physician, scientist; hairdresser should be easy!"

Rose got to her feet. "You do realise that most male hairdressers are gay, right?"

The Doctor shook his finger at her. "Now that's a sweeping generalisation and a bad stereotype. I know loads of male hairdressers that aren't gay. Well, I say loads, I mean some. When I say some, I mean a few. Well, one. Maybe."

He took Rose to the large bathroom off the same corridor as the sauna and the gym he'd 'forgotten' to tell her about.

Rose's eyes opened wide. "Crikey, you never told me about this place!"

It was magnificent, even for the TARDIS.

It was split into two parts, half bedroom with four poster canopy beds with gold cushions and tassels and half bathroom.

The bathroom was done out in gold and green, making it a sumptuous palace of decadence. The sunken bath took up almost as much room as a swimming pool and the tiles glinted in the fluorescent light. Plants in huge gilded pots covered most surfaces and where the ornate wooden benches sat against the walls there were soft towels and throw pillows.

"Wow," Rose breathed staring around at the golden palace. "It's gorgeous."

"Hmm."

Rose turned her head at the Doctor's preoccupied tone and bit back a smirk at his distraction.

Rose was marvelling at the smooth lines of marble and sweep of arches.

The Doctor was marvelling at the smooth skin shown at the edges of her towel and the delicate curves of her nape and neck.

Rose wanted to run her fingers over the cool surfaces and bask in the glow of the gold accents all over the place.

The Doctor seemed to want to run his fingers over her shoulders, down her arms to linger on her waist and bask in her own golden glow.

Rose wanted to sink into the hot water and let the ebb and flow of the tide wash away her aching muscles.

The Doctor seemed to want to sink his teeth into her collar and let his tongue chase away the drops of water that slipped from her wet hair to trail seductively down the long line of her spine.

Rose cleared her throat and he looked up guiltily.

"Yes, quite. Ahem."

The Doctor led Rose over to one side where there were curved chairs with tilted backs edged onto round basins.

Rose ran her finger along the smooth marble.

"This looks like a Grecian palace," she paused, "or, ya know, one of those orgy rooms."

The Doctor scratched the back of his head, embarrassed at being caught staring. "Loosely based on it," he hedged and helped her to settle back in the chair.

He ran the gold-crusted taps so that the basin filled with hot, frothy water and then gently pulled Rose's hair into the basin, smoothing the water through her locks.

Rose sighed as the Doctors fingers worked into her hair and massaged her scalp.

She closed her eyes as she felt his dexterous hands work their magic on her hair, squeezing shampoo into his hands which filled the air with the scent of strawberries.

She sank into the feelings and all but moaned as the Doctor stroked and slathered conditioner before rinsing the suds with infinite care.

It was a magical feeling, no words, just the two of them suspended in time and space with the Doctor taking care of her like he always did.

She felt so safe, so calm and so cherished here with him that she was openly disappointed when his hands stopped their gentle rhythm.

"All done," he said, somewhat hoarsely and Rose moaned.

"No, that was nice."

Nice was not the word the Doctor would have chosen.

He had felt "nice" when he had poured the hot water on Rose's blonde tresses but the instant he had his hands in her hair he had gone beyond 'nice'.

Knowing that he held Rose plaint in his hands had stirred something that he wasn't sure he was prepared to have stirred.

After seeing her so quiet and still his emotions were still rushing around and he was having trouble reigning them in, or even remembering i why /i he was trying to do so.

Her little purrs and moans shot straight through him and he shivered with each noise of satisfaction, imagining them in quite a different setting.

He smoothed the liquid into the ends of her hair ands tried to think of anything other than being able to stroke it all over Rose's skin; the scent of strawberries permeating her entire body in succulent waves.

He'd bend and use his oral fixation to taste her soft satiny skin and lick at the fruity sensation, an exquisite banquet of delight.

No 'nice' wasn't the word at all.

The Doctor pulled away and cleared his throat. "All done."

Rose pouted but allowed herself to be taken over to one of the beds that lay against the walls.

He settled her down on the silk coverlet and picked up a satin dressing gown that lay to one side. He helped her slide into it, covering her tantalising skin with a sheet of gold. Then he picked up a brush and started to run it through her hair, working out the tangles and cots as he did so.

Rose leaned back into his touch, enjoying the attention.

"I like that," she breathed. "I'll have you doing this all the time, you know."

He smiled and his hand drifted down to the slight bump under the satin dressing gown. He fingered the edges of the bandage.

"Not if you have to get hurt to have it done," he said honestly. "I'm sorry about this, Rose."

"Oi, less of that," she argued and half-turned on the bed to look at him. "It's not your fault, okay. I just didn't run fast enough."

"You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place," he replied fiercely. "I always do this, Rose, my life is just so dangerous and when I put you on the front line." He clenched his jaw and looked away.

Rose touched the brush in his hands and he resumed brushing her hair silently, the joy gone out of the action. He finished and deftly pulled it into a plait, hands resting on Rose's shoulders lightly.

"I should take you home," he said miserably. "You wouldn't get hurt there."

"Sure," Rose snorted. "Because London is the safest place in the galaxy. No crime, no war, no pollution, no bus accidents or sickness."

"It's not the same!" He burst out and pulled away, throwing the brush on the nearby table. "Human sickness and pain isn't the same as what I put you through. You were shot, Rose. You almost died. How many times has that happened? I locked you in with a Dalek and you were attacked by Cybermen and…I can't remember what else. My life is dangerous, and more so for my companions."

The thought of Rose getting hurt again, maybe fatally made his stomach twist into knots and he bit down on his lip, hard.

But the thought of Rose leaving, of making her stay with her mother made his whole world spin.

"Hey." Rose reached up to cup his chin, bringing him back to now. "I've said it before, yeah, I wouldn't have missed this for the world. You think that Daleks and Cybermen and getting shot by Prince John is bad? Try living on the estate, day after day with nothing to do, nothing to look forward to except for Friday's match against Newcastle and warm beer down the pub."

He gave her a sad smile and lay down, patting the bed beside him. Rose lay down and snuggled into his side, looking up into his eyes.

"You gave me a life, Doctor," she whispered, "and I can never thank you for that."

He gaped at her even as his hand reached out to stroke her hair. "Thank me? Rassilon, Rose you almost died."

"But I didn't," she insisted. "You saved me. You always save me. And it's worth it, yeah. All the fighting and the running, Gelth and Jagrafess and Slitheen it's all worth it. You know why?"

He shook his head wordlessly as her eyes filled up.

"I saw the Earth die, but humans make it. This stupid little planet with its people becomes something galactic. We go out there and we _dance_," she laughed damply. "We survive; you've given me hope, Doctor. Hope for us stupid apes. Who else gets that?"

"Rose," he croaked and she shook her head.

"But above that. I rode a shockwave through a plasma storm, I saw fire-butterflies on Orion Alpha, I went to Downing Street and practically chose a Prime Minister. Sunsets on Heliox, dragons and dinosaurs, my parents wedding, god, Doctor I met Charles Dickens and Queen Elizabeth!" Rose sniffed. "I get to spend time with you, learning about the universe. I wouldn't have missed it for the world, for any world. So I get shot—it's worth it for everything else."

Worth it?

He nestled her head into the crook of his chest and tried to take that in.

Rose honestly believed that it was all worth it, just to be with him. This tiny little human humbled him, she really did.

Rose Tyler believed in him and all he did and never took anything for granted, she breathed life into every second and he was lucky to know her.

He could feel her breathing start to even out as she fought sleep and he smiled into her hair.

"You can sleep. I'll take care if you."

"I know," she breathed confidently and that utter trust and devotion brought a lump to his throat.

He swallowed hard. "Rose Tyler, you are a treasure."

"Like the cursed Pirate treasure of Isla Morte?" Rose giggled sleepily. "Sorry, you're stuck with me. Poor Doctor."

"Poor?" He gathered her into his arms and hugged her tightly. "One of your philosophers said that a man's wealth is measured by his friends. I'm the richest man in the universe, Rose."

"Yeah?" She smiled tiredly up at her best friend and saviour before closing her eyes and succumbing to sleep. "Then the next chips are on you."

He leaned over to kiss her hair. "That they are. It's a date."

A date, could he offer that to her? Perhaps a nice piece of normality for their next trip, something that would make up for being shot. Rose loved the beautiful things of the universe, maybe he could show her the glowing Triffids of Altercast or maybe the Pyramids of Mars.

"How about we go and see the mermaids of Casadia?"

"Hmm, soundsniice," she slurred, half asleep.

He felt her smile against his chest and laid back, relaxed. "Doctor?"

"Hmm?"

"Sing t'me."

Sing? And here he thought she loved the beautiful things of the Universe.

Well, there was no accounting for taste.

He bit his lip and grinned. "Oh, the world will sing of an English King a thousand years from now…"


End file.
